The Devil Rode In On Horseback
by Steampunkmagic
Summary: When a mysterious stranger named Castiel arrives with the evening train in the town of Purgatory, all hell breaks lose for Sheriff Dean Winchester and his brother Sam.
1. Between Heaven and Hell

**Because I love Supernatural and I love westerns...**

**The soundtrack for this fic is on 8tracks under the same name.**

**As always I love reviews!**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong><em>Ch.1<em>**

**_-Between Heaven and Hell-_**

An oppressive heat rolled into Purgatory some three days before, leaving children lethargic and church collars stiff with starch and sweat. With the heat came the summer storms of wild blue-gold lighting streaking across the horizon and thunder crash which shook the town's tiny wooden buildings like the voice of God himself. 

Dean was used to the scorching air - it stopped bothering him when he was a child, like everyone else who had grown up here. Tipping the faded old Stetson back off his forehead and adjusting his dark cotton vest, he glanced up at the clock mounted precariously above his desk. The hands marked half-past twelve, which hopefully was right, Dean sometimes forgot to wind it. They did not have much use for the thing in the one room Sheriff's office. 

Either way it meant Sam would be back with Kevin soon. Thank the lord; Dean desperately needed a second pair of eyes. The army issued map he has been staring at was beginning to blur into a meaningless mess of intersecting red and black lines, leaving him with a headache and a strong desire for whiskey. Any other day Dean could simply head over to the Roadhouse Saloon for two-fingers before returning to duty without a care. That was because most days as Sheriff all he had to do was watch the flies on the station walls and play cards against his brother, who was also his deputy. 

Not today though. The Hellhounds Gang was back in area wreaking their usual havoc, holding up stagecoaches and banks all across the Wyoming and Colorado territories. Dean promised that son-of-a-bitch Crowley that if he ever set foot in town again he'd get a bullet through the skull. That was a promise Dean intended to keep, so he has been tracking their movements through reports. Those idiots had to be hiding out around here somewhere. 

With a sigh Dean rubbed his tired eyes and returned to the map, only to get interrupted a minute later as the door creaked open letting in a gust of hot, dry air. Looking up he saw his inordinately tall brother silhouetted in the door frame. He was so large he nearly blocked all the light coming in from outside. How was it that Sam is the younger brother? Dean often bemoaned being the shorter of the two, not that he was a small man by any means either. 

Sam ducked through the entry, pulling off his long black duster and rolling his shoulders back, before hanging it on the hook beside the door. A small black haired blur came hurtling in after Sam launching itself straight at Dean. On instinct born of repetition, he caught the small boy in his arms before being knocked out of his chair. 

"What did Jess just tell you about throwing yourself at people?" Sam reprimanded lightly. He dropped into the rickety, old wood chair, at the desk crammed beside Dean's, with a huff. 

The little boy shrugged unabashed. His oriental coloring set him apart from anyone else in town and often lead to interesting questions from strangers - those often lead to punches being thrown by either Sam or Dean and idiots noses being broken. 

They took Kevin in after his family was taken by the consumption. They came over in one the China ships to work the railways, though apparently the Trans were from one of the other countries over there -Dean was never sure which was which. Either way, the Winchester Clan ended up with an orphan and once he was a little older a smartass 'junior deputy'. Emphasis on the smartass. 

"So Miss Jess is back on trying to make you an upstanding citizen again?" Dean grinned down at the boy in his lap. 

"I think the Bible says she has to." 

Sam snorted in bear-like laughter, which rattled off the bars of the two-man jail across from their desks. His hazel eyes were bright with suppressed mirth. 

"Good to know he's learning something in that Sunday School." 

"Jess says he won't stop asking questions. _But_ he does sit still now." 

Kevin hopped down with as much indigence as a seven year old could muster, and marched over to the drawer where they kept the shortbread biscuits. This was a long running conversation in the Winchester household. Kevin was astoundingly smart, far out stripping any other child in town, but he also had the attitude of -well, _a Winchester_ - which always made things difficult. 

Their younger sister Charlie - their father John was determined to have three sons and refused to give up the name - claimed they infected him. It was probably true, since the Winchester Clan was re-known for its civil disobedience, ironic since they'd also been the law in this part of the Wyoming Territory for generations. 

Dean decided to stop giving the kid a hard time, and instead turned on his brother. As the eldest child it was his sacred duty to mess with Sam as much as possible. "So did _you_ have any pressing questions for our town's lovely school teacher?" 

As expected Sam's cheeks turned an unmanly shade of pink. The boy had been in love with Miss Jessica Moore since before he could remember. Blonde, sweet, beautiful, and smart as a whip; more than one fella had fallen for Jess in their day, but she only ever had eyes for Sam. So why he had not gotten' down on one knee yet was a mystery to everyone. 

Sam rubbed the back of his neck looking uncomfortable. "It's just not the right time yet." He mumbled at the desk, refusing to meet Dean's eye. 

"Well, when the hell will be?" Dean demanded, his exasperation spilling over onto his brother. "She is already 18! You cannot expect the poor girl to wait forever, now can you? If you don't get the gumption one of these days some New England rich-boy banker is gonna ride through here and sweep her off her feet. And then I'm gonna hafta shoot you so your moaning about it won't send me to an early grave." 

Sam glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, the expression in his hazel eyes clearly annoyed. "Feel better?" 

Dean paused before finally growling out. "No." 

His brother smirked in that way which always made him want to throw heavy objects at his face. It was an art he had mastered when they were children. Dean just glared at him. 

"He's right though." Kevin chimed in, around a mouthful of short bread. "Mr. Hendrickson is always giving Miss Jess extra sweets when she goes into the store." 

"He does what?" Sam sat up straight in alarm making Dean chuckle. 

The boy nodded crawling into his own chair next to Dean's. "Yeah, he always smiles and gives her a couple a' pieces of penny candy whenever she goes in." 

"That rat bastard! Who does he think he is?" 

"A man with eyes." Dean said sagely. "Only proves my point though, don't it?" 

"Shut up." His brother snapped, pulling the maps over to his desk in an obvious attempt to derail the conversation. 

"Girls seem like far more trouble then they're worth." Kevin observed in the solemn voice of a preacher rather than a child, after a minute or two of silence. 

Dean caught Sam's eye as they both fought not to laugh. He had this conversation with his father when he was young, and then with both his siblings as they grew up. 

"You will change your mind on that once you're older." Sam said. 

"Dean's old and he doesn't have a wife." Kevin pointed out quickly, taking another bite of his biscuit. 

"I am not old, I'm only 26!" He cried in defense. This conversation was not supposed to be directed at him. "And just because I'm not married doesn't mean I think women are more trouble than they're worth." 

Sam, who was now currently grinning from ear to ear goadingly, said. "You better not let Charlie or Aunt Jo hear you talk like that or they will be coming after our hides." 

Kevin paused as dawning realization spread comically over his features. His last bite of cookie hung suspended in his hand halfway to his mouth. The brothers waited a moment watching his young mind processing several things at once. 

Children were an interesting breed, and for the most part Dean had no idea what to do with them. After his mother died, leaving him a younger brother barely able to talk and an infant sister, his father taught him how to fire a weapon, how to trap and skin a jack rabbit, and how to be sheriff. According to John that was all a father needed to do. Dean found himself vehemently disagreeing with that assessment of fatherhood, when he went into that house of sickness and a toddler, with dirty skin and wide, almond eyes, reached out his too thin arms, weak from malnutrition, waiting for Dean to lift him up. The moment he did the small boy wrapped his arms around his neck and promptly fell asleep. As of that moment Dean knew he was going to do things differently. 

"Wait a second… they're girls too." Kevin's coal dust eyes widened as he connected these seemingly obvious dots. 

"Aye." His brother nodded seriously, without looking at the boy, so as not to laugh and embarrass him. Kevin, though, was surprisingly difficult to embarrass. Probably another result of being raised a Winchester, no shame. 

"But they're not married either?" Kevin's brow furrowed. 

_"Charlie is only 15!"_ Dean cried, suddenly horrified at the thought of a fool headed cowpoke looking sideways at his baby sister. Not that she was likely to look back, but it was the principle of the thing. 

Charlie Winchester was off limits unless you wanted to be saddle drug across town - if you were lucky - and everyone knew it. A lot of the old biddies enjoyed publicly bemoaning that fate of the pretty little redhead with the man's name, attitude, and over protective brothers. Her husbandless fate was cursed due to her lack of a mother according to them. Charlie, on the other hand, was perfectly happy avoiding the majority of the roles delegated to her sex, such as dealing with suitors. Or wearing proper clothing. 

She complained enough about wearing her calico dresses on Sunday that living with her would have been hell if Charlie were forced to wear them every day. It was difficult enough as an older brother to deal with what she wears normally when she's working at the Roadhouse Saloon with Jo. He was going to have a stroke one of these days. 

"Jo is older than you." Kevin pointed out to Sam with a raised eyebrow. The boy seemed determined to solve the puzzle of women in one conversation. Good luck with that kid. 

"Well." Dean watched amused as Sam fidgeted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. "She and Miss Anna - well - you'll understand when your older." He finished lamely, glancing towards Dean for assistance which was not forth coming. 

It was far more entertaining - a commodity that was few and far in between in the west - to watch him try and explain what Purgatory's minister loved to pointedly ignore. Why the man even cared was something Dean never did understand. Horses and donkeys made mules and no one gave two shakes, and those were different species - so what did anything Jo and Anna got up to matter to anyone? Dean was also starting to suspect his sister fell under this category as well… 

Clearly unsatisfied with Sam's pathetic answer, Kevin frowned nodding. Probably already deciding to take his questions over to Bobby later. 'Uncle' Bobby was good at that kind of thing, mostly because he did not believe in 'sugar coating nothin'. It was a 'waste of words', he said. 

Dean leaned back in his chair causing the wood to creak. Some day the thing was going to collapse and send him sprawling onto the splinter wood floor, which was gonna do wonders for his tough guy reputation. Such things were surprisingly hard to maintain, even if you shot every outlaw who set foot in your town. That plus Sam would never live it down. 

Said, pain-in-the-ass little brother, in an obvious attempt to change the subject rustled the maps in front of him with a flourish. He cleared his throat indelicately and set back to marking The Hellhounds Gang's known sightings. 

After a moment Sam paused staring at the map intently. 

"You got something?" Dean asked, knowing Sam's thinking face all too well. The kid could pick up patterns like nobody's business. 

"Look at this." Sam excitedly angled the map in his direction, pointing at a small mining town south of them. 

"Skip the theatrics Sammy." His eyes skimmed the worn paper searching for whatever Sam figured out. He was too tired to play games. 

"All the towns around Banford have been hit, some of them multiple times, but…" 

"Banford never has." Dean finished softly. 

Holy shit. How could they have missed this? This was huge. The map was covered with little red x's indicating every place Crowley's gang had struck and those x's formed a perfect circle around the small town of Banford. And the question was why? 

Something or someone was protecting the town. Dean suspected, and obviously Sam did too, that it was a simple matter of criminal logic: Don't hold up the bank of the town you live in. They had those sons-a-bitches now! 

Sam shot him a triumphant half-smile. "I guess we better go see who made a deal with the devil." 

"Boy howdy." 

Someone in Banford knew what was going on, that was for sure. And by the power of the lord himself he was going to find out who. He has already spent more bone aching hours hunting these fuckers then Dean wanted to think about. It was time to finish this. 

"We better head out first thing tomorrow. I can get Ellen to mind the kid, between her and Charlie he'll get to the school house eventually." 

Kevin huffed in annoyance behind them. "I'm not a dog." He muttered. 

Dean continued, ignoring his adoptive son's complaints. "There shouldn't be any trouble while we're gone, but we can ask Benny to look in on things. That is if he doesn't shoot me for asking." 

"He threatened to blow your head off last time." Sam deadpanned, an amused glint in his chocolate eyes. "Have fun with that." 

Benny Lafitte was an ex-Calvary man who lived outside of town. He cooked southern food, played banjo, and owned a rifle collection that impressed even Dean. They became friends quickly despite apposing viewpoints on the 'War of Northern Aggression', as Benny called it. 

He was also probably the calmest man in the whole damn territory, until Dean asked him to join a posse to hunt down a murderer named Alistair, that is. Benny bodily threw him out of his cabin shouting that he was done with soldiering and death. All Dean's other attempts met with similar results and Benny threatening to ventilate his skull if he asked again. 

Despite the shells fired into the air, Dean knew his friend would never actually kill him (hopefully), so he kept coming back anyway. Benny needed to face what he had been made to do in the Indian Wars and it wasn't like anything was going to happen in Purgatory while they were gone. Ellen handled the drunks just fine. 

"It will be fine." Dean told his brother dismissively, leveling himself to his feet and reaching for his deer skin coat hanging off the back of his chair. 

"If you die do I get your job?" Sam ribbed him. 

"No." 

"If you die do I get Sam's job?" Kevin spoke up eagerly. 

Dean pretended to ponder it over for a minute, while pulling on the jacket and straightening his vest. "Maybe." 

With that Dean tipped his hat mockingly and stepped outside. Standing on the boardwalk porch he wondered if he should get that whiskey now, just in case Benny really did decide to kill him. 


	2. When The Man Comes Around

**Thank you beautiful people who've reviewed this story! You're words keep me going :D *hugs***

_**Notes for perspective: **_

**Purgatory is about the size of Deadwood**

**'Main Street' has the layout of Tombstone (more or less)**

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><p><strong>-When The Man Comes Around-<strong>

A man unlike any who had come before stepped out onto the warped planks of the train depot. The early moonlight glinted off his polished boots, and dark unruly hair. Unnaturally blue eyes looked past the water tower to the town beyond with interest. This place was as strange to him as he was to it. 

Castiel followed the few careworn passengers, to debark the train, down onto the dust filled road. A surprisingly well cared for sign of white washed wood and black lettering declared: _'Welcome to Purgatory'_, above the trainmaster's booth. He paused to stare at the sign for a moment, frowning in irritation. 

His brother never lacked for theatrics. 

Castiel had been tracking Lucifer for longer than he, or any other angel, cared to remember. He was not the only one, of course, but he knew he was closer now than any of his brethren had come before. Why the fallen angel had crossed into the human plane was a mystery, yet Castiel was sure Lucifer was no longer in his lower dominion.

Whatever the reason behind it, the trail led here to this dry obscure desert. Yes, the town of Purgatory might be a bright cluster of human souls in the vast surrounding darkness, but even that should have no draw to Lucifer. Castiel hated this uncertainty.

Slowly he made his way down into the town, ignoring how the dust which rose with every footfall clung to his dark clothes. The clothes he bought in a shop in New York, one of the few Way Points between Heaven and Earth. Humans instinctively gathered at these Way Points, building massive cities around them as a natural impulse - Babel was the first of these constructions. Castiel found the black frock coat and pants, white shirt, and sapphire vest complete with bolo tie, rather disconcerting. Angel's in their true forms had no need for such constricting garments.

"Hello. I've never seen you here before." A young woman's voice pulled Castiel back to the present.

A pretty woman in a pink calico dress with cascading blonde curls stood at the entrance to the small cemetery at the edge of town. She carried a near empty basket of yellow flowers and when Castiel glanced behind her he realized she had been placing them on the graves - all of the graves. She smiled brightly at him, her soul was almost blinding in its radiance. 

Castiel nodded politely at her, human social customs were still a mystery to him. "Good evening Miss." 

She came to walk beside him for the last few hundred yards into Purgatory. Most human shied away from him, but not her, which was oddly nice. He did not know what to do with most mortals even though his grace instinctively reached out to them. Angels and mortals were like constantly shifting magnetic forces - pushing away then pulling back again. 

The young woman glanced at his clothing. "Is this your first time West?" 

"Yes." He raised a questioning eyebrow. 

She grinned. "You're either a banker or a minister by the look of you and I'd definitely say a Yankee." 

Castiel tilted his head in acknowledgement without confirming or denying her obvious question. She took his noncommittal with grace. 

"If you are in need of a bed we only have one hotel, but it is nice. Just head over to the Roadhouse Saloon and ask for Ellen. She will get you set up." 

"Thank you I shall do so." 

The girl stopped in front of a small wood frame chapel, the last building before the wide desert expanse beyond the town. The gilt cross shone against the backdrop of newly emerging stars, it matched her hair. 

"How rude of me, I have not introduced myself!" She laughed flushing slightly and extending a delicate hand. "Jessica Moore, school teacher - Sunday and otherwise." 

"Castiel Novak, minister." The name he had taken from a bottle in a drugstore window and, well, he knew a lot more about religion than banking. Bowing slightly he kissed the back of Jessica's hand making her flush deepen. 

"If you are out here looking for work I am afraid my father's already got the job." She gestured towards the tiny chapel without looking. 

"I am only passing through." He nearly smiled, her soul was almost gold in its purity. 

Castiel followed Jessica's simple directions to the Roadhouse, not that he really needed help finding what appeared to be the Mecca of Purgatory. The sounds of an upright piano mixed with clinking glasses, shouts, and raucous laughter, all pouring out the brightly lit windows of a front-faced wood building. A weather worn sign declared it to be 'The Roadhouse Saloon' in case there could be any confusion about it. 

Steeling himself for dealing with the baser forms of humanity, he pushed open the swinging double doors and stepped inside. A good portion of the town seemed to be lounging - or slumping - around the long wood top bar and the round tables scattered throughout the space. He moved across the room, weaving between the bodies in an attempt to reach the counter, realizing how terribly out of place he was in clean linens. Everyone here was covered in a fine layer of brown dirt, or in some cases several layers. 

Castiel made it to the bar just as people began turning in his direction. He could feel questioning and suspicious stares raking along the back of his neck. A girl behind the counter, with mid length crimson hair and a fitted turquoise dress with black beading, looked up at his approach. There was something remarkably calm in her gaze, as if she were an island in the frenzied sea which existed around her. Castiel felt a kindred spirit to his surprise, perhaps there was angelic blood somewhere down her family line. It was rare but it did happen. 

"I was told to ask for Ellen." Castiel said before she could speak. 

She shrewdly took in his appearance. "Looking for a bed for the evening?" 

Castiel nodded tacky. 

"Hey Jo!" She called towards the girl at the other end of the bar. "Get your mother, will you, she's got a customer." 

Jo finished pouring a man a glass of viscous green liqueur that matched the color of her dress, before taking off up the stairs to the right of the bar. The women here - including the younger ginger haired girl waiting tables - were the most colorful things in town. Their clothes glittered against the drab backdrop of the desert, like jewels in a dragon's horde. 

The woman behind the bar followed his gaze. "We don't offer that here. The sheriff is against it." She said lightly. 

Castiel flushed, turning back to her sharply as he caught her tone and meaning. "No. That was not what I - I am not -" 

A grin slowly spread over her pretty features at his obvious discomfort. "Oh I see you're a Bible Man." 

Castiel was not entirely sure why humans associated religious devotion to his father with chastity. If his father wanted humans to remain chaste they would have died out millions of years ago. But he gratefully took the offered escape from the discussion. "Yes, something like that." 

"A rare breed in these parts, unless you count the Injuns which you probably don't." She remarked. 

"Why shouldn't I count their spirituality?" 

She regarded him for a moment then, and her features lit up with a genuine smile. "Anna Milton." She finally introduced herself, holding out a hand. 

Castiel wondered how many times he would have to repeat this social custom while in the mortal world. It seemed they never tired of shaking hands. 

"Castiel." He repeated for the second time that evening, taking her offered digits. 

He was cut off from saying anything more by the arrival of a woman who he assumed was the elusive Ellen. The comely middle aged woman appeared beside him, cheerful warmth radiating off her. Her dark brown locks were liberally streaked with gray in evidence of the difficult life out west, yet there were deep laugh lines around her eyes. 

"You the one in need of a room?" She was direct, which Castiel liked immediately. Angel's never delayed with social niceties. 

He nodded. 

Kind but extremely shrewd, Ellen Harvelle got the keys to one of the four rooms above the saloon, all the while asking vague yet leading questions. Xenophobia appeared to be the order of the day around here. Castiel did his best to be equally vague while handing over the two dollars rent for the night. 

About to follow Ms. Harvelle up the flight of stairs at the back of the room, Castiel was stopped when a man slid up beside him to order another drink. 

"Where did you say you where from exactly, friend?" The handsome man asked ever so causally. 

Castiel stiffened. Something about the stranger's green eyes put him on guard immediately. His soul was bright, but there was something there he could not quite place. Something shadowed. It may have been the obvious hostility on the man's face for one thing. 

"I do not believe I told you, friend." He leveled, his voice a hint of rolling thunder. 

Anna and Ellen exchanged raised eyebrows. 

The man sat down his shot glass carefully and angled to face Castiel fully. The bronze star on his vest glinted mincingly in the smoky lighting. Human law enforcement, or the facmile of it at least. 

"I think you might want to tell me why you're in my town." 

"Your town?" 

"Sheriff Winchester, so yes, **_my_** town. You best answer the question, because I'm feeling a might distrustful all of the sudden." The green eyes hardened to emeralds. 

Castiel stared back unblinkingly. He could see his icy stare was unnerving the sheriff through all his gruff posturing. "Simply passing through." Castiel bared his teeth in a smile. 

"You gota stop scaring away the paying customers." Remarked the younger redhead punching the sheriff lightly on the arm as she sauntered in-between them purposefully. 

It was starting to feel rather claustrophobic with so many human souls brushing against his grace at once. 

"Mary mother of God! What are you wearing?!" Cried Sheriff Winchester doing a double take at the girl, effectively distracting his anger at Castiel. A vein ticked in his forehead threatening to give him a coronary. 

The girl, whose cream skin and petite figure was displayed by her feathered, low cut yellow dress, rolled her eyes and huffed in irritation. "Don't change the subject, Dean. Why are you harassing our customers?" 

There was something extremely entertaining about watching this soldier's-spirit human being taken down by nothing more than the words of a tiny young woman. He looked afraid of her. 

"This is sheriff's business!" Snapped Dean. 

"Seeing as how I have only just arrived, I do not see how I could be sheriff's business or anyone else's." Castiel stated dryly. 

"Convenient timing." Was all the sheriff muttered before laying down his coin and marching out the swinging doors. 

"I will yell at my brother later, don't worry." The girl smiled once her sibling had disappeared. "Or Sam will once I tell him. He is convinced everyone is part of some vast conspiracy or whatever." 

Castiel could not help admiring the man's instincts." 


End file.
